


Love Song

by Khylara



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2014-06-20
Packaged: 2018-02-05 11:38:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1817191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khylara/pseuds/Khylara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The song Sherlock played still haunts John a year later.  He never expected to hear it again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Song

**Author's Note:**

> Written long before S3. Fluffier than a basket of kittens sitting on a dandelion cloud. Thank you to Bast for the DVDs and the Britpick!

 John Watson had just turned the corner, heading down Baker Street when he heard the faint, unmistakable sound of music. Violin music. It made him stop in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to the people passing around him as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to fight off the sudden sting of tears.  It had been so long…

 _J_ _ust a year,_  he thought with a start. Could it really already be a year? A part of him couldn’t believe it had been so long; it still felt like everything had just happened yesterday. It certainly still hurt like it did.

A year ago he had been sitting at their dining room table in their shared flat and watching Sherlock lose himself in his violin music, playing something beautiful and haunting and unmistakable. He had meant that day to ask Sherlock what it was, but it had slipped his mind for whatever reason. He still didn’t know; after the funeral he had spent weeks going to every music store he could find looking for the tune, wanting desperately to hear it again and having no luck whatsoever. Another little heartbreak to pile on top of all the others he had suffered, but that had been one of the worst.

He only heard it in his dreams now. Every night when he closed his eyes he heard the same melody, saw the same image of Sherlock going around the room with the violin tucked under his chin, the bow going back and forth in flawless motion, the curls he had always longed to card his fingers through in wild disarray. The dream changed after that – sometimes he stayed in his chair, ignoring his blog and simply watched. Other times he got up and stood behind him, sliding his arms around Sherlock’s slender waist, moving with him across the floor whilst he played. And still other times he took the violin from Sherlock’s hands in mid-song, carefully putting it back in its case before pulling the other man into his arms and kissing him before he could protest the interruption.

 _The radio,_  he decided as he started walking again, heading for the front door to 221B.  _Mrs Hudson listening to the BBC, maybe…to fill the silence._   He couldn’t blame her for that; there were too many days when the silence was unbearable for him, too.  But there were also days when the music – any music – was far worse. 

 _Like today._   He’d have to ask her to turn it down. She’d understand why.

Pausing in front of his front door, he dug in his pants pocket for his keys, glancing around as he did so. A frown crossed his face when he noticed that Mrs Hudson’s car was nowhere to be seen. _Out to the market, maybe,_  he mused as he unlocked the door and stepped inside.   _She went out and left the radio on. She does that. She’s hated coming home to quiet ever since…ever since…_ He didn’t finish the thought but that was all it was.  All it could be. A perfectly reasonable explanation.

Until he remembered that Mrs Hudson was visiting her brother’s family in Brighton for a fortnight. He had put her suitcases in the back of her car just that morning, waving her off with a hug and a forced smile before going into work.  
  
The moment he realized that – and what it meant – he broke into a run, taking the steps two at a time, his heart racing out of control as hope filled his heart for the first time in over a year.

He burst into the sitting room, his eyes going wide as he saw the one sight he thought he never would again – Sherlock Holmes moving around the room, violin tucked under his chin, playing the same tune he had been playing on the day before John’s life had changed forever.

He leaned against the doorframe, suddenly weak in the knees, his vision blurring from unshed tears.  “Sherlock,” he breathed, praying with everything he had that what he was seeing in front of him wasn’t an illusion, a trick his mind was playing on him because he was tired and worn out with grief and work.  _Please, God…give me this…one more miracle…_

Looking up, Sherlock stopped in mid-tune and smiled.  “Ah, there you are,” he said as he carefully put his violin back into his case. “I was wondering where you had gone off to.” Bland, casual – as if he had only been away an hour instead of a whole year.

John’s eyes widened in complete disbelief. “Where have I…the hell…” Finally he managed to get out the one question that was foremost in his mind. “Where in the bloody hell have you been?!”

“Does it matter?”

John was about to burst out yelling that  _of course_  it mattered – he had been gone an  _entire bloody year_  and everyone thought he was  _dead_  for Christ sakes when the full realization of what he was seeing hit him. Alive. Sherlock was alive and well and standing in front of him without having changed it all, it seemed like. Still capable of infuriating him with a simple word, the barest hint of a gesture. Still capable of twisting his heart into a tangled up, undoable knot with a glance from those electric blue eyes.

His heart lurched so hard in his chest that John found himself clutching the doorframe in order to stay upright, his eyes never leaving the familiar, beloved, exasperating figure standing in front of him.

Sherlock was alive.

Before he realized what he was doing, John strode across the room, grabbed Sherlock by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him into a hard kiss.  _Real…this is real…_ he thought as their bodies pressed together.  _He’s alive…Sherlock’s alive…and here with me…and it’s all real…_

For a split second John expected to be pushed away and he tensed, preparing himself for rejection. But then Sherlock’s mouth opened under his, the detective returning the kiss with equal intensity as his long fingers dug into the sleeves of John’s grey woollen jumper. His breath caught in a sob. Perfect…so perfect after so long alone…

“I love you,” he murmured in between kisses, choking on the words. A part of him couldn’t believe he was actually saying the words finally, but he couldn’t keep them bottled up any longer. “Have for ages…should have told you long ago…” Tears slid down his cheeks unchecked; he didn’t care. “Oh, God…Sherlock…”

Sherlock let out a breathless little laugh as he drew away enough to cup John’s face in his hands, brushing away the falling tears with his fingertips.  “Oh, John,” he whispered. “I knew.  I always knew. Did you honestly think that you could hide something like that from me?” He rested his forehead against John’s for a long moment before his own confession came out in a whisper that John could barely hear.  “And I should have told you before, as well...how I felt. What you made me feel.” He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, his body relaxing fully against John’s. “I love you as well. I just…I didn’t realize how much until…until…” He didn’t finish.

 _Until he was gone,_  John finished for him inside his head. “Then why?” He drew away enough to look at the other man, letting the hurt, the confusion he was feeling show on his face. “Why all this? If you can’t tell me everything…can you tell me that much?”

“Moriarty,” Sherlock said simply. “He would have killed you. All three of you…Mrs Hudson and Lestrade as well. He had you staked out, with snipers trained on you all. He taunted me with it, up on that rooftop. Told me that in order to keep all of you alive, I had to die in disgrace.” He shook his head.  “I thought I could get it out of him how to keep the three of you alive without any bloodshed…I knew I could have…but he shot himself before I could try. I couldn’t do anything else…not with Mrs Hudson and Lestrade’s lives at risk…but especially not with you.”  He paused, brushing his finger along John’s cheek.  “Everything…I did it all to keep you safe.”

John let out a harsh little laugh, shaking his head. Typical. Absolutely, completely typical.  “Sometimes you can be such a colossal idiot, you know that?” At Sherlock’s confused look he explained further.  “What makes you think I would want to be safe if I couldn’t have you?”

Sherlock blinked. “That…hadn’t occurred to me.”

John rolled his eyes. Of course it hadn’t – this was Sherlock Holmes, after all. “Is that why you’re back, then? It’s safe now?”

Sherlock nodded. “As safe as I can make it. And with Mycroft’s help it’ll be safer still. Between the two of us, we managed to track down the rest of Moriarty’s network…Interpol is making the final arrests as we speak.” A feral little smile crossed Sherlock’s face.  “Mycroft…he gave them all a choice. Which is more than I would have done, considering things.”

Somehow John wasn’t surprised that Mycroft had known and been involved with all this. He had acted odder than he normally did at the funeral, but John had chalked that up to the same combination of grief and regret he himself had been suffering from. He resolved to give the older Holmes a good left hook to the jaw the next time he ran into him. _Maybe a thank you, too,_  he mused. Definitely a punch, though. “You should have told me,” he said, frowning a little, knowing he should really be angrier about all this but not really wanting to be. Not with Sherlock still securely in his arms. “I could have helped…”

Sherlock shook his head again.  “There wasn’t any chance to. And you were being watched.  All three of you were…but you were in particular.  Your reaction…your grief…it had to be genuine for it to be believed.” He clutched at the woollen jumper sleeves, his fingers digging into the nubby yarn. “I know it doesn’t excuse things…but I couldn’t…” He swallowed hard, finishing in a whisper. “I couldn’t risk losing you, John. I’m sorry.”

John let out a long-suffering sigh. “It doesn’t matter,” he found himself saying, surprising himself. Because it didn’t, not really. “You’re back.  And you’re alive. That’s what counts…not anything else.”  To further emphasize that point, John drew Sherlock into another, much gentler kiss.

He let his hands roam, allowing them to touch places he never thought he’d be able to. Slipping Sherlock’s jacket off of his shoulders, he tossed it onto a nearby chair before going back to the other man’s waist to pull at Sherlock’s pristine white shirt. Finally freeing it from Sherlock’s pants, he undid the first three buttons and placed a kiss at the hollow of Sherlock’s bared throat. He smiled when he heard the other man sigh.  
  
Feeling Sherlock’s own fingers inch under his jumper to caress bare skin, John forced himself to break away.  “Bed,” he said, his voice breathless but firm.  “I’m not having our first time making love in the middle of the living room floor.”

“Your bed?” Sherlock asked even as he began leading John down the hall. “Mine…after all this time…”

John quickly shook his head.  “It’s been shut up since…everything.  Mrs Hudson and I…neither one of us had the heart to go in there.” He paused.  “I can help you set everything to right again if you want.”

Sherlock considered the offer for all of a moment.  “Later. Your bed will do for now.” He squeezed the fingers in his keeping. “I don’t want to wait any longer. All right?”

“Of course it’s all right.  And I don’t want to, either.” He let Sherlock lead him into his room, making sure the door was closed firmly behind him before taking the other man back into his arms again.  “We’ve waited far too long as it is.”

“On that I’m inclined to agree,” Sherlock said as he cupped John’s face in his hands and began to kiss him again.

It didn’t take long for John’s jumper and t-shirt to end up over his head and on the floor, followed by Sherlock’s shirt a moment later. “You’ve lost weight,” Sherlock finally said after looking John over with a critical eye.

“So have you.”  Sherlock had always been thin, but now John could definitely feel ribs as he slid his own hands up the other man’s torso. “Did you eat anything while you were gone?”

Sherlock gave him a look.  “Of course I ate, John.  Sustenance is a necessity not even I can live without.” He tilted his head, thinking. “I don’t recall doing it all that often, but I must have sometime.”

John let out an exasperated little sigh. “Sometime soon we’re going to have a long talk about proper nutrition and dietary guidelines and eating at regular times of the day,” he promised as he sat down on the bed, kicking off his shoes and socks before drawing Sherlock to him.

“Whatever you like,” Sherlock said as he undid John’s khakis. “But not now.”

“Of course not now,” John agreed as he pushed Sherlock’s black pants off of his slender hips. His breath suddenly caught in his throat. “Look at you,” he breathed. “Bloody gorgeous, that’s what you are.” Suddenly overwhelmed, he brushed a kiss right over Sherlock’s navel before resting his cheek against the pale skin. “God, I missed you,” he said, closing his eyes as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock. “So much…you don’t know how much…”

Long fingers began carding through his hair, soothing away the remaining heartache. “I think I do,” Sherlock said, his voice equally soft. “There were days…so many days…I thought I’d go mad, being away from you so long. I think I did, a time or two.” He planted a kiss in John’s blond hair before burying his face in it. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, John. I never meant to hurt you.”

John drew away enough to give him another lingering kiss. “Shh,” he breathed. “It’s all right. Over and done, okay? We’ll start all over again from this moment on.” Getting rid of the rest of his clothes, he gently tugged on Sherlock’s hand, smiling all the while. “So come here, you daft impossible thing.”

Sherlock grinned as well as he went willingly into John’s arms.  “I missed that…you calling me names. I think that was one of the things I missed the most.” He looked John over again. “Along with this.”

A fond, exasperated look crossed John’s face.  “Sherlock, we never did this.”

One long finger began tracing meandering patterns over John’s upper arm.  “But I always wanted to.”

John reached up to brush a lock of dark hair out of Sherlock’s eyes.  “And you didn’t think I might like to know that?” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “You could have told me.”

“Could I have?”

“You said you knew how I felt.”

“But you were always so adamant about other people not considering us a couple,” Sherlock reminded him.  “From the very beginning. I didn’t know how to reconcile that with what I could see.” A small frown crossed his face. “It was…confusing.”

“I’m sorry.” John brushed a finger along Sherlock’s cheek, his heart warming when the other man leaned into the touch. “How you made me feel…it was a little confusing for me, too. And you did your own pushing away with the “I’m married to my work” bit.” He sighed again – so much wasted time on both of their parts. They were a pair of idiots, the two of them. “No more dancing around each other. All right?”

“Agreed,” Sherlock said with a nod.  A mischievous spark suddenly lit up his eyes.  “Unless we actually are dancing.”

John’s eyes widened. “You dance?”

“I know how, if that’s what you mean. Mummy taught us both. Said it was the mark of a gentleman, knowing how to dance properly.” Sherlock reached up to run his fingers through John’s blond hair. “I haven’t in quite awhile, so I’m probably out of practice…but I would like to, with you.” He paused, a questioning look crossing his face. “If you would?”

An image of being in Sherlock’s arms, the two of them swaying to the sounds of soft music suddenly came to mind and John couldn’t help smiling. “If you’re willing to put up with my two left feet,” he said. “I never learned how.”

“Easy enough to. You have a natural grace that would make it so.” At John’s raised eyebrow, Sherlock suddenly blushed. “I used to…I like watching you move. Even if it was just across the room.” He ducked his head and continued.  “There’s a little club near Angelo’s…nice enough place and the band is quite good. Slow jazz, mostly. After everything’s settled, we’ll go and I’ll show you how.”

Cupping Sherlock’s cheek in his hand, John angled his head up enough so their eyes met. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice soft. A shiver went through him as Sherlock turned his head enough to brush his lips against his fingers. “I like that, too.”

“Do you, now?” Sherlock slid an arm around John’s waist, drawing him even closer. “Well, then…let’s see what else you like. Shall we?” His fingers danced over John’s hipbone as he captured the other man’s lips in another kiss.

John had just pushed Sherlock against the pillows, about to duck his head down and take his partner’s leaking erection in his mouth when a tug on his hair made him look up. “What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning a little. “Did you want me to stop?”

“Yes,” was the unexpected reply. When John tried to pull away, however, Sherlock drew him back up into his arms. “No…I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was I want you another way.” His voice softened as he wrapped his arms around John’s neck. “I want you inside me.”

John’s blue eyes went wide; he hadn’t expected that. “Oh,” he managed to get out, but he didn’t ask Sherlock if he was sure, if that was what he really wanted. Instead, he sat up and reached for the bedside table drawer. “I know I have something…here.” He pulled out a small bottle of lotion before reaching again, this time for his pants.  “And my wallet. There might be…”

“You don’t need those,” Sherlock interrupted tersely as he practically snatched the bottle out of John’s hand and rolled them both over, pushing the other man back against the pillows before straddling him. “I haven’t in years and I know you’re safe. I hacked into your medical records.”

John stared at him for a moment before letting out a spurt of laughter. “Why am I not surprised?” His chuckle turned into a low moan as Sherlock wrapped a lotion-slick hand around his cock. “Oh…God…”

Sherlock watched intently as John’s blue eyes fluttered and closed.  “Is that all right?” he asked, frowning a little.  “I’ll admit to not having a great deal of practice at this, so if you’d rather me do it another way…”

“Bloody hell, Sherlock…shut up,” John growled as he took the lotion bottle from his lover’s hands and coated his own fingers. “I swear you talk more in bed than anyone else I’ve ever known.” He slid his hand in between the other man’s legs. “Maybe this will quiet you for a bit.” With that, he rubbed one finger against the puckered opening, making sure it was well coated with lotion before carefully easing it inside.

Sherlock’s breath suddenly caught in his throat. “Oh,” he breathed, his eyes wide.  “Oh…that’s…yes, John…” The gasp turned into a moan as one finger slowly turned into two.  “Yes…my John…”

“Only yours,” John agreed, his voice just as soft as he withdrew his fingers. He held Sherlock steady with one hand as he leaned up enough to give him yet another kiss, tangling their fingers together with his other one. “Just like you’re mine.” Both men moaned as Sherlock slowly sank down onto John’s cock, not stopping until it was fully inside him.

They stayed like that for a long moment, arms wrapped around one another as they traded hungry kisses. “God, you feel good,” John managed to get out through gritted teeth as he held onto his control through sheer force of will.  “Sherlock…this isn’t going to last.”

“Doesn’t have to,” Sherlock said with a grin and yet another kiss before he began to rock. “We can start all over again as many times as we like.” John’s cock nudged something deep inside of him and Sherlock gasped, his fingers digging into the sheets. “Oh…John…

“That’s it,” John crooned as he watched, running one hand up Sherlock’s back whilst the other held him steady as he moved.  When his eyes closed John reached up and gave his curls a tug.  “Oh, no…open your eyes, Sherlock. I want your eyes on me.”

Blue eyes opened and locked onto John’s. “I think…Oh, God I think…you’re right about…not lasting.” A shudder ran through him as his back arched into John’s touch. “It’s not…I can’t…”

“Then don’t.” Grasping Sherlock’s bobbing cock, he began to stroke it in time with the other man’s moving hips. “Let it go…I’ve got you.” He leaned up enough to give Sherlock one more kiss.  “I love you.”

That was all Sherlock needed; a low, throaty groan escaped him as he came, spurting all over John’s caressing fingers. The combination of Sherlock’s flushed face and the sound of that husky voice moaning his name took John over a moment later, his own climax leaving his mind spinning and his heart whole for the first time in over a year.

They lay together like that for a long moment, limbs entwined and sheets tangled around them as they caught their breath. “It’s all right,” John murmured when the other man let out an inarticulate little murmur of protest when he finally withdrew. “I’ve got you.” Coaxing Sherlock off of him, he cleaned them both up as best he could with his discarded t-shirt before pulling the comforter over them both. “I’ve got you, Sherlock. It’s all right.”

Sherlock moved even closer, burying his face in John’s bare shoulder. “Don’t leave.”

An ache filled John’s heart when he heard the raw emotion, the aching need behind those two little whispered words. _This past year…it’s been hard for him, too,_ he realized as he brushed a finger along his lover’s cheek. Tilting Sherlock’s head up so their eyes could meet, he shook his head, brushing a kiss against his parted lips. “I won’t, not ever. Promise.” He paused, suddenly wanting to make things crystal clear between them. “And if you ever try to again, so help me God I’ll hunt you down and handcuff you to me again.  For good. I’ll lose the key and everything.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Sherlock’s pale face. “That could make things interesting.” The smile disappeared a moment later, the look on his face turning serious.  “You won’t have to, though.  You have my word.”

John let himself relax; Sherlock was capable of a lot of things in order to get his way, but he always kept his word. He nodded, satisfied with things for the time being. “All right, then.” He brushed a stray lock of dark hair back into place.  “Now that we have all that settled…will you do something for me?”

The answer was immediate.  “Anything.”

“Will you play for me? Now?” At Sherlock’s raised eyebrow John explained further. “I’ve missed it.”

Blue eyes surveyed him silently for a long moment before Sherlock leaned over enough to give John a lingering kiss.  Getting out of bed, he pulled his shirt and pants back on before leaving the room without a word. 

He came back a moment later with his violin and bow in his hands. Pulling the chair away from the desk, Sherlock put it in front of the bed and sat down.  “What would you like to hear?” he asked as he plucked the strings to make sure it was still in tune.

“What you were playing earlier,” John said immediately, his eyes never leaving his lover’s face.  Barefoot, dressed in rumpled clothes and with his hair going in all directions, Sherlock was the furthest thing from his usually meticulously neat self that John had ever seen.  He also had never looked more adorable. “You played the same tune before…the day before everything happened. It’s beautiful.” He sat up a little.  “What is it, by the way? I tried to find it after…”

“You wouldn’t have been able to,” Sherlock interrupted and even in the dim light John could see the blush colouring his pale cheeks. “It’s just…it’s a little something that came to mind that day. Whilst I was watching you at the computer.”

John blinked.  “You came up with that out of thin air? Because of me?” He couldn’t help the awe that had crept into his voice – to have something so beautiful written for him…

Sherlock considered him for a long moment.  “Everything I’ve done since I’ve met you has been because of you, John.” With that, he set the violin against his chin and began to play.

John settled back against the pillows.  _I love you,_  he thought, smiling as the last of the heavy weight he had been feeling for the past year finally fell off his shoulders. He knew that there were things both of them should have been doing, important things, but for now he was content to just lie back and drink in the sight of Sherlock playing his song.

 


End file.
